


Unbound

by RosemarysBabysitter (TashaElizabeth)



Series: Goretober Prompts [7]
Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-08
Updated: 2017-10-08
Packaged: 2019-01-10 16:44:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12303291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TashaElizabeth/pseuds/RosemarysBabysitter
Summary: Goretober Prompt: Stitches. A story about healing up and getting through.





	Unbound

The whole thing was just so fucking typical it made Seth’s blood boil. Of course. Of course Dean had gone through a desk two weeks ago and of course he had decided that now was the exact moment he couldn’t stand having his stitches in a moment longer. Now, when he was armed with only Seth, who had just stopped by to see if Dean wanted to get lunch and maybe try to talk. Seth and a frankly frighteningly sharp set of sewing scissors. That was just the way Seth’s life went. He got everything he wanted in the worst, meanest, most fucked up cursed genie wish way possible. See his heavyweight championship. See his tag team championship. See his whole goddamn life.

“Are you stopping to admire the view?”

Seth looked up, past the curve of Dean’s bare ass to the where he was braced over the room’s writing desk.

Of course the stitches in question were running up the back of Dean’s thigh.

“Haven’t seen it in a while,” Seth admitted. 

“Who’s fault is that?”

Seth lowered his eyes a moment. “I didn’t mean…”

“Yeah, well, quit your bitching and get a picking,” Dean said.

Dean was flinching from his touch because of course he was. The man could jump off ladders and batter through flying fists but all these little thing were suddenly so intolerable. Everything from carsick to ticking clocks to “the tag on my shirt itches,” became these huge fucking productions that…

Seth realized he was making himself angry on purpose so that he wouldn’t feel bad. He did that sometimes. He had only just started to realize that.

Dean was flinching because they weren’t quite right yet. 

He put a hand on the curve of Dean’s buttock and pushed it up so that his skin would tighten. He must have put his thumb on a bruise because Dean made a noise in the back of his throat. Carefully, slowly, he slid the very tip of the sewing scissors between the surgical thread and Dean’s skin and snipped each loop loose. Then he set the scissors aside.

He saw Dean tense. His impulse was to roll his eyes. Instead, he patted Dean’s hip sympathetically. “I’ll just pull them out.”

At the top of the now healed cut the thread had been pulled hard against the skin by Dean’s movement. There was barely anything to hold onto and Dean’s skin had already started to grow over what was there. Seth fumbled at it with a calloused thumb and finger, hearing Dean hiss when the sensitive skin was jostled. He was hot under his skin and red around the suture. Dean always did heal up all at once. Icing a wrenched shoulder overnight and then running out the next day to play basketball. In bed for three days with stomach flu and then over the course of an afternoon nap deciding he was well enough to go out drinking.

The thread was really stuck though. Seth leaned in.

Honestly, Seth hadn’t been thinking about anything but his mother getting splinters out of his hands on the playground but when he tried to tell Dean that later Dean refused to believe him. Dean couldn’t see him as anything but devious anymore, even when it was something simple and playful. Like leaning forward and pressing his lips to Dean’s skin, finding the knot with his tongue and clamping it between his teeth to remove it.

He sat back on his heels, pulled the bit of thread from his mouth and a minute later he had his lap full of Dean Ambrose, his lack of pants only making the situation more interesting. “Oh,” Seth said in surprise and then, “ _oh_ ” when Dean pushed him flat on the floor and hovered over him. Dean looked at him a moment, studying his face but when Seth wrapped his arms around Dean’s back so that his dangling fingers were brushing against the freed stitches Dean hissed on the inhale and then used that breath to kiss him.

And then later he had Dean’s leg bent up to his chest and, wow, he’d forgotten how flexible Dean was, but they were right there. Under his hand, coming looser with every pet and thrust, working their way out of the tender, aching parts of Dean’s body. He was close enough to see every gasp and flush in Dean’s face. Close enough to press his lips against Dean’s forehead over and over again, rubbing his nose and his eyelashes against Dean’s sweaty skin.

He wanted to say, “I’m sorry,” but that wasn’t the sort of thing you were supposed to say while you were fucking, so he didn’t say anything at all.


End file.
